


Replacement

by SoDoLaFaMiDoRe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Empurata, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-consensual surgery, surgeries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5020540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe/pseuds/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharma shows Ratchet who the better doctor is, involving Drift's frame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Vienn Peridot for letting me use the anon's plot bunny! And thank you to the anon for having the bunny!

Ratchet struggled against the bindings chaining him to the wall, optics wide as he took in the white form on the operating table, faceplates stilled in the grip of medical stasis. Pharma was prepping his surgery table, strangely quiet and cold as he laid out the tools he needed, a mesh covering some misshapen lumps on the cart as his strangely flat EM field began to spread out, roughly smoothing the ragged spikes of Ratchet’s own as he turned his helm to acknowledge the other medic.

“Well, Ratchet, it appears that I once again have to remind you who the better medic is. You like this mech, Drift, yes?” His gaze was dispassionate, as if he was telling a story he’d told a hundred times before. Ratchet could barely react as Pharma whipped around and began to scream.

“WELL LET’S SEE WHO IS THE BETTER MEDIC!” Backhanding Ratchet hard across the face, Pharma turned back to the table, arms transforming in a blinding frenzy as he began to roughly cut into the swordsmech’s servos, Ratchet beginning to protest loudly as the awful sound of metal cutting metal filled his audios.

One of Pharma’s wingtip’s caught on the edge of the the mesh, pulling it to the floor as he continued his frenzied work, moving to Drift’s helm as his servos were thrown roughly to the side.

Ratchet had to resist the urge to purge his tanks. He would know one of those helms anywhere, seen the effect they had on a mech as they were altered without consent. 

\----

“R-ratchet?” The vocalizer came on, thick with static as a ache burned throughout his frame. Starting up the white medic, he reset his optics in an attempt to fix his vision, his optics not processing his surroundings properly. The medic looked upset, his faceplates streaked with cleansing fluid and the worry-lines particularly creased in the metal. 

Crying wasn’t an expression Drift wanted to see on the medic. Reaching a servo up to stroke his faceplate, Drift noticed that the appendage was wrong. Resetting his optics, the image in front of him wasn’t changing. His servos weren’t his own, they were claws, same as he’d seen on some of the even unluckier residents of the Dead End. 

“Ratchet!” Sitting up, the medic attempted to get a grip on the swordsmech, who began to struggle against the larger mech. In the attempt to calm him down, Drift felt his faceplate hit the glass of the medic’s chest. Pulling back slightly, he could barely make out his reflection in the glass, but stilled in shock as Ratchet noticed his ceased struggling.

His faceplates, or plate now, weren’t his own. Even his finials were gone, leaving him with a plain, boxy, utilitarian helm with a single blue optic staring back, no way to express his emotions.

“Drift, I’m so sorry.” The medic held him close as the mech began to keen, stroking his plating and attempting comfort in the face of what was to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this fic isn't as involved like fics such as ACL, so the chapters will be a little shorter and more in snapshot form than a full tale. I hope you enjoy anyway! (Also, unbeta'd.)

Escaping from Pharma’s clutches had proven to be a fruitless effort. Drift’s servos were in tremendous pain from the welding scars, and his mental state wasn’t much better. Luckily Pharma had wanted to gloat, talking on and on how he was the best as Ratchet attempted to comfort a near-catatonic speedster. The crazed medic wasn’t fully in a murderous stage, he wanted to make sure both suffered.

It always hurt the worst when Pharma would take Drift from him, the white mech’s EM Field blank and flat, only to return him covered in burns and dents, forcing the swordsmech further into his own helm to cope. Ratchet’s imagination and experience in a war zone could only begin to cover the physical, much less the mental or coding aspects going on out of his sight.

Ratchet was hitting his own mental breaking point when Drift returned one day, even more covered in dents and field twinged with a mixture of shame and fear. As Ratchet attempted to move his arms to comfort Drift, the mech pulled away, the fear spiking in his field. 

With a growl, Ratchet tugged harder at his chains. Something seemed to pull in his shoulder strut, but a weak link snapped and he was free from the wall. The cuffs were loosened and easily fell from his servos, allowing him a moment to massage the kinks out before turning to Drift. It was obvious he didn’t want to be touched, the way the beaten mech curled away from him, but it gave Ratchet the strength he needed to gather up the chain and lie in wait for Pharma.

Hiding behind one of the carts with a length of chain in his hand, Ratchet crouched until his struts screaming in protest, steadying his vents as the door was keyed open. The moment he noticed the first hints of red and a jet’s wings, he was leaping on the mech, giving a scream and catching the jet around the neck with the chain.

Choking out the mech, Ratchet began to smack into him with his fists, screaming and pulling at sensitive plating that would help disable the jet. Drift seemed to be in shock at the outright violence Ratchet displayed, watching as the medic tore at the crazed doctor and attempted to cut off the energon flow to his processor.

When Ratchet fully came back to a conscious processor, he looked at the body of his former protege on the floor, spilling energon and graying. Looking towards Drift, who was still shaking and resetting his optic in an attempt to process what had just happened.

“Drift, let’s get out of here.” Stepping cautiously closer, Ratchet reached a servo out, crouching to be on Drift’s level. Drift, processor catching up with the situation, leapt forward to embrace Ratchet.

Only when Ratchet attempted to hold him back, Drift began to scream in pain, leaping back as if he’d been burned. Ratchet froze in shock as Drift curled on himself and sobbed until he could control his venting and desensitize from the shocks running through his frame. 

“Drift, are you alright?”

“Ratchet, I want to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


End file.
